


aianos

by meowjunhwi



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dido - Freeform, Dodo is Circe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Greek Mythology AU, HyungWonho - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post Trojan War Setting, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Wonho is Odysseus, Wonhyuk - Freeform, Wonkyun, but it's Yeojoo not Kihyun, but it's wonwoo and changkyun hehe, jooki, just lesbian witches being in love and conquering eternity, obv Dior is Penelope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 09:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowjunhwi/pseuds/meowjunhwi
Summary: The skies are still dark with the remnants of the night but the chariot of Helios is preparing to break through the Heavens as the beginnings of daylight starts to peek through the horizon.Dodo wakes in the early morning peace, the stillness of life palpable in the silence of the house. There was only the sound of breathing and the occasional chirping of the crickets that had been present ever since summer rolled around.“Dodo?” A sleepy murmur reaches her ears.“I’m here,” Dodo answers, padding over to the bed as the other’s hand darts out from under the covers, seemingly searching for her presence. Once Dodo was within reach, fingers encircled her thin wrist and tugged her lightly, telling her with the same sleep-laced voice, “The sun isn’t out yet, my love. Come back to bed.”
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Lee Minhyuk
Kudos: 2





	aianos

**Author's Note:**

> Another HyungHyuk AU!!! But this time it's Dior and Dodo bc I love them both and I can't stop thinking about how much I'm whipped for the way Madeline Miller writes her novels. I just finished Circe and the story is great (despite some parts that had disturbed me lmao) and I love the ending, it's sweet yet I expected Circe and Penelope to get married and be bad-ass lesbian witches. Since it didn't happen in the book, I thought I might just write it in this universe, and ta-dah! Witch Dodo is such a pleasure to write and Dior's wits match that of Penelope, so writing this was really lots of fun!
> 
> Also, I am planning to write another installation to the MX Greek Myth AUs, I just hope I'll be motivated enough to turn this into a series lmao.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The skies are still dark with the remnants of the night but the chariot of Helios is preparing to break through the Heavens as the beginnings of daylight starts to peek through the horizon.

Dodo wakes in the early morning peace, the stillness of life palpable in the silence of the house. There was only the sound of breathing and the occasional chirping of the crickets that had been present ever since summer rolled around.

She moved to stand with careful and quiet movements, the cotton sheets sliding down her body, exposing her bare skin to the cool morning air. From the floor, she picks up a robe that had been hastily thrown the night before, and draped it over her shoulders as she walked towards the closed windows of the room.

Drawing open the midnight blue curtains, Dodo sits on the window ledge and leans her arm against its frame, watching as the world slowly transitions from its state of slumber to a state of wakefulness. From the distance, she could hear the sound of the waves kissing the shore, and the comfort of it lulls her back to drowsiness, almost falling asleep from where she is seated if it weren’t for the voice of the other occupant of the house catching her attention.

“Dodo?” A sleepy murmur reaches her ears.

“I’m here,” Dodo answers, padding over to the bed as the other’s hand darts out from under the covers, seemingly searching for her presence. Once Dodo was within reach, fingers encircled her thin wrist and tugged her lightly, telling her with the same sleep-laced voice, “The sun isn’t out yet, my love. Come back to bed.”

“I have to tend to the gardens soon,” she answers, but she climbs back on the mattress nonetheless and lies down on her side so she could face the other. There was only a hum and then another tug, making Dodo scoot closer and closer until their breaths mingled and their skins touched, separated only by the thin fabric of Dodo’s robe.

“Sleep,” a whisper, then the hand on her wrist moved to her waist, and then Dodo needed no more coaxing as she fell back to her dreams once again.

*****

Long after Helios had crossed the vast Heavens with his chariot, Dodo crouches in her garden with the sun’s heat on her back, bringing beads of sweat to rise upon her skin as her hands work to remove the weeds from the flower beds.

The skitter of footsteps against the ground captures her attention, making Dodo look behind her and see her wolf scampering towards her followed by a woman dressed in flowy white tunic, the hem almost touching the muddy ground that she walks on.

“You have been working since sunrise. You must be starving. Come, eat with me,” she gestures to the stone table by the side, the newest addition to their garden that was installed by her son and his brother the last time they had visited over the winter.

Their meal was eaten with light conversations passing in between the two of them. Dodo asks how her latest project is coming along and she was graced with a satisfied smile accompanying the response, “It will surely be done by the full moon. Just in time for our visit to Italy. Surely, the waves would be good when we travel.”

“Speaking of which,” Dodo drinks from her golden goblet. “I have to make sure that the ship is well enough for us to use as we traverse. Though, I don’t doubt our sons’ workmanship.”

“Would you like some assistance with the work?” the woman asks as she starts to clean the remains of their food.

Dodo nods once, “If it’s not too much of a bother to you.”

“Silly, woman,” the other snorted, yet her eyes held a certain fondness to them that made Dodo’s heart squeeze in her chest. “Of course, it is not a bother.”

Leaving the basket on the stone table, they set off down the path to the cave where the ship had been laid to rest while not in use.

With their arms linked they walked, the hems of their white tunics starting to be stained with muddy brown. The woman hums a wordless tune under her breath and the birds sing along with their melodic chirping. She then turns to Dodo and asks, “Do you think our sons would love the tapestry once it is done?”

Dodo knew the answer, and she gave it confidently, without any doubt tinged in her voice. Just pure and raw honesty bleeding through her words, “Of course. Only the blind wouldn’t be able to appreciate such handiwork of yours, Dior.”

She looks at her after, feels the satisfaction bloom like flowers in her chest when she sees the wide smile on Dior’s face.

It had been a huge difference from the first time she saw her, with grief hanging heavily on her shoulders like a thick blanket at the loss of her husband.

She asked then, “Do you have a black cloak? I would like to mourn.”

Dodo shakes her head no, but she leads her to her loom and Dior would sit there for days, fingers moving skillfully as she fashioned the obsidian yarn into a piece of fabric to be worn.

There were only awkward and dead-cold silences in the house for the days that followed, when they are left alone inside while their sons are out and about on the island, tending to the ship or to the garden. Walking along the shore and feeling the waves lap at their feet, or sitting down underneath the shade of a tree as they shared stories of the father they got to know in different versions.

In the house, Dodo kept to herself, with her potions and spells and salves, while she leaves Dior alone with her loom and yarns, and the stories she weaves onto the pieces of cloth.

Even then, the weight of their combined grief is heavy in the air—that of a wife who had lost her husband, and that of a lover who had lost her dearly beloved—and it is suffocating, it made Dodo run away from the house and stay out until Changkyun was looking for him when the sun had already long set, telling her it’s time for dinner.

It was only when Dodo confronted her that their long-standing silence had been broken.

“You could have gone to Sparta. Surely, your family will accept you there. But you chose to sail instead to my island with my son,” Dodo asks through gritted teeth. “Don’t take me for a fool, Lady Dior. You ask of my power so boldly and so bravely, you must know by now what I can do. So speak of the truth.”

“She comes for his blood,” Dior answers simply, her chin held high as she levels Dodo with a gaze. “She lost her dearest hero, her most beloved Hoseok. In return, she will come for his blood.”

It is just as Dodo had assumed, and a month later, Athena shows up in her house donned in her battle armor, painting the air around her with a silver glow of her Olympian glory. She asks for Jooheon, offers him a future served in a silver platter for he carries the blood of a treasure within his veins, the blood of the Best of the Greeks and the favorite of the goddess Athena.

But the offer was turned down, much to the dismay of the goddess, and was instead offered next to the other son of Hoseok residing within the house. The fear of losing her child once again rose up in Dodo, and the protest was immediately on her tongue, ready to be lashed out if it weren’t for Changkyun’s insistent eyes landing on her.

Ever since he was but a child, Dodo knew that his thirst for the world is something that can’t be bound to just the island of Aiaia, not when there is something bigger outside the shores and farther than what his eyes could see as he stared at the horizon, holding secrets that are just waiting to be unraveled. She tried once, but only ended up losing the little war that they had between them.

Sixteen years, she had kept him, but now she has to set his wings free and let him fly, even if it meant losing the child she had held in her arms and watched grow into the young man that he is now.

Changkyun leaves at sunset, such little time between Athena’s announcement and his departure that there is no room for Dodo to grieve. Instead, she placed her efforts into ensuring the safety of his travel, casting a spell upon him and his ship, packed with him the salves and potions that shall serve as medicines to treat wounds and other bodily discomforts.

Jooheon ended up leaving with him and together, they boarded the ship that Athena had sent. Jooheon promised to keep Changkyun safe at all costs, which Dodo believes he would do dutifully. She watches as the vessel leaves the shore and sails away from the island, her son standing on the prow and taking his place among his men.

In the house, there was only quiet.

Dior attends to the chores as Dodo revels in her grief at the loss of her son, the memories of his childhood stuck on every part and every crevice of their home.

Once, she was sitting by the window in the great hall, overlooking the ocean, and she had not moved for days as if waiting for her son to come back with the promised declaration of not leaving again. But such is a dream, for Changkyun belongs to the world and not to be confined in the borders of Aiaia. The curse of exile is only Dodo’s to bear and not her son’s, never her son’s.

Dior drapes the obsidian cloak on her shoulder and it surrounds her with warmth—she is no longer alone.

Finally, she cries.

The road to her freedom follows, when she calls for her father, the great Titan Helios, to bargain with Zeus and lift her exile. There was power in her voice, in the way she didn’t cower anymore in the intimidation of her Father; in the way her words didn’t falter as she listed her demands. And her victory could compare to shackles being removed from where it bounds her wrists and feet, to the key being turned in the lock of a dungeon and the door finally swaying open, making way for Dodo to step out and finally get a glimpse of the world she had not seen even if she had already lived for centuries.

“My exile has been lifted, and I’ll be gone for a while. I’m not sure when I will be back. Would you like for me to take you to Sparta or would you rather stay here?”

Dior’s answer was, “I’d go with you, not to Sparta, but wherever it is that you will journey to.”

“It will be dangerous,” Dodo warns her. Scylla, the monster that eats a dozen men at once, and Charybdis that takes you under its strong currents. Nothing is safe in that path, but Dodo wills herself to feel no fear as she once again faces a figure of her past.

She expected Dior to falter, to change her mind and stay behind in the island, or maybe ask to be brought to Sparta to be reunited with her family there. Any of those but the steel determination in her voice and in her gaze as she says, “I assumed so, yet still, I am going with you.”

They left at dawn and after a day’s worth of travel, they rested ashore on an island where Dodo spent the better part of their stay ridden with fear. It gnaws at her insides as she stared at a blank point, past the edge of the dark waters which her eyes cannot see, yet she could imagine it clearly—the mist and the cave, the hissing sound of Scylla’s breathing, the snapping of her large mouths, ready to devour mercilessly.

She was thankful then, of Dior’s company, for Dodo is like a ship floating aimlessly on the ocean’s surface and Dior is the anchor that keeps her steady with her silent yet strong presence.

The next day, they set sail towards Scylla, and despite the fear that settled as they reached the cave where Scylla dwells, the mist blanketing them almost to the point of zero visibility and the acrid smell of her breath, there is the satisfaction and the relief of seeing the potion that Dodo made take its effect, defeating Scylla and turning her into a large stone, never to move again and never to devour those travelers who pass by the caves that were once her own.

When they reached land, Dodo fell on her knees, the grains of sand digging uncomfortably on her skin.

“It is done,” she whispers. Dior’s shadow falls over her as she kneels before her, taking hold of her hands that are still shaking with the mixture of fear and adrenaline. “It is done.”

“It is,” Dior affirms. A gentle, barely-there squeeze of her hands. “You have done well, Witch of Aiaia, and so for tonight you must rest. We are not in a hurry to go back after all.”

Dior wordlessly took charge of preparing their meal, stoking the fire and catching the fish. Dodo tried to help but she was pushed down on the log, “You must rest, let me handle this,” much to her displeasure at having nothing to do but she does as told.

After Selene had crossed the skies with her glinting silver chariot and had decorated the Heavens with the moon and its stars, Dodo and Dior sat by the fire with bellies full and limbs aching with exhaustion.

And yet, they do not sleep. Over the burning embers that cast an orange glow to their skins, they traded stories—of Sparta and the courtyard where Dior used to play with her cousin as a child; of Oceanus and his halls where Dodo used to hide behind pillars as her relatives gathered together for a celebration.

She notices the wound on Dior’s hand, the skin starting to turn an angry red with irritation. Dodo takes her hand wordlessly and cradles it on her lap, applies salve with gentle movements of her fingers so that the wound may heal well, not even a scab will show on the fair surface of her skin.

Then unconsciously, Dodo starts to trace the lines of Dior’s palm, feels the rough pads of her fingers from hours and hours of weaving. All the while, she feels Dior’s eyes on her, observing her every move, hears Dior’s breath catching in her throat when Dodo brings her hand up to her lips and places a kiss on the middle of her palm, where the gash had once been, now only a small line barely seen, already healed.

The gesture was intimate, almost reverent with the way Dodo’s full, red lips the color of rose, pressed kisses on each of her fingers and then the inside of her wrist where the beating of her heart could be felt through the thick layer of her skin.

When their eyes met, what once were ice-cold and hard, steely gazes melted into something warm as the heat of the flames washed over them and Dodo finally closed the miniscule space left between their bodies.

For three nights, they laid together and shared the earthly pleasures of each other’s bodies, then after would they trace the constellations that dotted the skies and Dodo would tell her the tales of her Aunt Selene, of the other tales of adventure that Hermes had brought to her before, all condensed into words that Hermes had so vividly and creatively described.

Egypt. Sumeria. Italy. All of them, and more.

“I wish to go with you, wherever it is that you would want to go,” Dior whispers to her in a soft tone, her head pillowed on Dodo’s shoulders as they wait for the sun’s rays to kiss the skies, Helios driving his chariot across the Heavens for daylight to bleed amongst the dark.

“That is,” she adds, “if you would want me to.”

Dodo doesn’t think about it, draws Dior tighter in her embrace as she whispers back her response, “I want you to come with me.”

When they returned to Aiaia, there had been a subtle yet noticeable change between the two of them. No words were needed though, for they fully understand where they stand with one another.

On the night of their return, they only needed to wait for the fire in the hearth to be consumed, and afterwards, they laid together and Dodo traced the stars on Dior’s skin to form constellations which only she could see and admire.

*****

“You did well today, my love,” Dior whispers as she kisses the valley between Dodo’s breasts, delights in the hitch in her breathing and the moan that followed, tumbling down from Dodo’s plush and kiss-swollen lips at the praise.

Dior maps Dodo’s skin with intimate familiarity, slides her hand up and down her body with nothing but utter devotion and adoration for the woman in front of her is her wife and her goddess, laid bare for her to worship in her wholeness.

Just like how she weaves her tapestries, Dior’s skillful fingers expertly trace the crevices of Dodo’s skin, drawing out the most beautiful sounds that drowns out the rest of the world, condensing every bit of its wonders in their bedroom. Sometimes she wonders if Dodo would let her weave a tapestry in her honor. The story of her life interwoven together with gold, silver and black threads, every detail of every tale that Dodo had told her embedded into her handiwork.

In their post-coital bliss, Dior asks for her permission to do so, “Wife, would you let me weave a tapestry in your honor?”

She could clearly imagine the way Dodo’s forehead creases for surely she must have thought, _Why? I am no hero but a witch who had spent the better part of her life in exile._

Tapestries are made to tell the stories of heroes and their prophecies—their journey towards greatness and godliness, and then their downfall which leads to their tragic demise.

Still, Dior is determined to do as she wished, if Dodo agrees for it to be done. For she may not be a hero, but she is the Daughter of the Sun, the Witch of Aiaia, with powers that could threaten the gods of Olympus, the successful bearer of Trygon’s death and the Mother of Italy’s most beloved emperor. Like heroes, her name will go down in history as well—in the story of Jason, king of Iolcos and adventures of Hoseok, heir of Ithaca; in the life of Crete’s most skilled Daedalus.

“I will agree,” Dodo enunciates her words carefully, her breath fanning against the naked skin of Dior’s chest where she lies. “Under one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Your story shall be included as well,” she declared, lifting her chin up so she could meet Dior’s eyes, striking gold glistening in the dark, and some may have been unnerved and intimated with the sight but never Dior. “Let them know that when Italy’s empire rose, Aiaia bore not only one witch, but two—one of divine blood and the other of mortal inheritance, and let it end there. The tapestry need not to be long, and the rest of our story and Aiaia’s shall only be ours to share and not for the rest of the world.”

Dior smiles as her fingers played with the ends of Dodo’s silky brown curls, “As you wish, my love.”

*****

The journey towards Italy was uneventful to say the least, the waves were calm yet they did their job to aid the witches’ ship in their travel.

When they arrived, the halls of the Changkyun’s temple was alight with the sun’s glow reflecting off of marble walls, making them sparkle underneath its light. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed along with the king’s voice, dipped in youthful glee as he welcomed his visitors on the island.

“Mother! Aunt Dior!” Changkyun exclaims as he throws himself to the embrace of the two women with the lack of a princely-like grace.

“Son,” Dodo greets, cups her son’s cheeks in her palms as a gesture of motherly affection. “How are you and Jooheon faring in this country?”

“Well,” he answers simply. The timbre of his voice became deeper, with a masculine edge laced in his words. He had matured enough, the lines of his skin filling out with muscles from rigorous training, shaped from the hours spent on the battlefield. Dodo takes a look and she sees that this is no longer the child she once held in her arms, a tiny bundle of angry screaming and crying. In place was a fully-grown man who ruled the empire of Italy, his path laden with gold as promised by the goddess who claimed to be his patron.

“Jooheon is tending to the gardens,” Changkyun explains as they make their way towards his chambers, three pairs of feet gliding gracefully against the smooth, marbled floors of the palace. “He will follow suit once he is done.”

The king’s chamber is the largest in the palace, as to be expected. Yet compared to the rest which is lavishly decorated, Changkyun’s is much simpler, and where the palace is laden with sparkling white, Changkyun’s is dipped with green and earthy tones, reminding Dodo of their house back in Aiaia.

“It is a reprieve,” Changkyun tells them on their first visit. “Being a warrior is hard, even more when you’re a king. This is the closest I can have to home since I can’t rule a kingdom from afar. I like to think this is a piece of Aiaia I had made here.”

Jooheon arrives shortly after them, greeting his mother and his aunt with a respectful bow and a kiss on the back of their hands before he takes the empty seat beside Changkyun.

With the four of them gathered around the table like this, drinking wine and feasting on bread and fruits, sharing stories of each of their adventures and hearing the laughter ring in the air around them, it simply feels as if they were back in Aiaia.

*****

Jooheon tells them of a young maiden in the palace, Yeojoo her name was, and Jooheon likens her to a rose in a garden filled with irises and sunflowers.

“She is beautiful, in a way that roses are when they finally bloom and the season of spring kisses their petals open. There is gentleness in there, hidden by layers and layers of thick thorns,” Jooheon smiles in gentle affection, on his cheeks were deep indentations the shape of crescents. “She is not to be bested, and men had fallen under her strength and wavered beneath her wit.”

Dior meets her in the palace gardens when she was taking a walk, and her voice captured her attention, a smooth delicate sound, like the lull of waves on the ocean’s surface and Dior is on a ship, sailing above its calm waters.

Seeing her in the midst of the flowers, tending to the soil and removing the weeds, her hair falling against her shoulder and obscuring a part of her face, Dior was reminded of Dodo—careful hands cradling petals, the sound of a wordless tune carried over by the wind.

Dior walks over and crouches beside Yeojoo, taking the maiden by surprise. Yet Dior offers a friendly smile to placate her, “I mean no harm, I apologize for the sudden intrusion. Would you like some help?”

And Yeojoo, after a beat of hesitation, allows her to.

They worked in silence for a while until Yeojoo asked, “You are Jooheon’s mother, am I correct?”

Dior nods, “I am.”

“One of the Witches of Aiaia,” Yeojoo nods, her thin lips spreading across her light and red rose lips. “I am honored to have finally met you, Lady Dior.”

“So am I,” Dior tells her, watches as the maiden’s features morph into surprise for after all, who would expect an esteemed witch to feel honored at meeting a simple mortal such as her?

“Come, my child,” Dior stands and pats the dust off her tunic, gesturing for Yeojoo to follow her. “Tell me about the stories of these flowers so I can convince my wife to plant some in our own gardens as well.”

*****

“Will you take a maiden for a wife soon?” Dodo asks her son, keeping her voice light as to not make him bear such unnecessary pressure. The question is plainly for curiosity’s sake after all.

Changkyun clears his throat, his answer expected so it did not exactly take Dodo by surprise when he says, “No, I won’t.”

Dodo simply nods, not offering any further inquiries. However, as they walked up the palace steps after taking a stroll by the shore, she notices Changkyun fumbling nervously beside her, which was uncharacteristic of her child so to speak for even when he told her he would like to sail to Ithaca to meet his father, he had not once faltered from his nerves.

“Mother,” he calls after he takes a deep breath, his voice shaky and tentative. Dodo hums, the two of them stopping in their tracks to face each other. “What is it, son?”

Changkyun opens his mouth to speak, yet the words fail to spill forth as another presence joins them where they stand, his approach silent as the wind yet his voice sails through clearly with a deep yet gentle lilt to his tone.

“Your Highness,” he says, then bows dutifully in front of Changkyun. He, who is dressed in a tunic that reaches above his knees and the cords of his mud-brown sandals wound around his shins, also acknowledges Dodo’s presence with a bow, “Lady Dodo, I hope the travel from Aiaia has been well.”

“It is,” Dodo nods, gestures for the man to stand up straight once again and it is only then that Dodo notices how his height towers above Changkyun by more than a few inches. “What is your name, young man? I believe I haven’t met you the first time I visited my son.”

“I had only been a part of the emperor’s council last autumn,” he answers. “Still, I believe I am not worthy of the praises that his Highness had sung in front of his advisers and the officers of his army.”

Changkyun grumbles under his breath, “You deserve the praises and more,” which pointedly caught the witch’s attention, making her raise a curious eyebrow at the insistent words of her son.

“You flatter me, my Lord,” the young man laughs, a pleasant rumbling sound coming from his chest and it reminds Dodo of the waves lapping against the shores of Aiaia.

Changkyun introduces the young man as Wonwoo, the Chief Strategist of his council, and despite his young age, there is a depth of knowledge in his eyes, hailing from the books he has read and the adventures he has become a part of. In the first war that Changkyun had participated in, Wonwoo was one of the soldiers and it is through his careful eye that sees every nook and cranny that the tides shifted in their favor and made them the victors of the battles that followed.

Wonwoo apologizes for his intrusion at their time together and he promptly excuses him and Changkyun as the emperor is needed for an emergency meeting of the Council. An unrest is brewing in the North by barbarians who think it wise to usurp the throne.

Dodo allows them their leave, stays behind and watches as they walk together in such close proximity, their skins brushing at every sway of their limbs. A careful hand places itself at the small of Changkyun’s back as Wonwoo leans his head down to listen to what his king has to say. Only then did the witch understand the nervousness in Changkyun when the topic of his marriage came up for surely he wouldn’t marry a maiden.

Changkyun had come to love the ocean blue waters ever since he was a child, for it is when the coldness of the waves touch his skin does he feel the utmost comfort. It is no surprise for Dodo, who knew her son well, that he gets swept away by Wonwoo’s gentle currents.

“Do you think Athena will approve? Changkyun wouldn’t bear an heir and I don’t think he would entertain the idea of laying with a maiden,” Dior appears from behind one of the pillars, a basket hanging on the crook of her arm, filled to the brim with sunshine-yellow blossoms. “I don’t want tragedy to befall upon your son just because things didn't go the way Athena had planned them to be.”

“Wonwoo is a bright, young man, I think Athena will approve of his wits at the very least,” Dodo answers. “As for an heir, Jooheon and Yeojoo would have a son, and the little one will be as brave and fearless as a tiger.”

It is a foresight, offered by the ability that she had gotten from her prophetic Father, yet it is not as powerful as Helios’ or Apollo’s for Dodo could only see the miniscule details but not their Fate.

She looks down at the basket and takes a stem of a daisy, tucks it behind her wife’s ear and kisses the rosy apples of her cheek, “Have you thought of bearing yet another child?”

“I have not,” Dior answers truthfully, wounds her free arm around Dodo’s as they start to stroll down the halls towards their own chambers. “I would like to focus on my witchcraft for a while. I’m not yet quite content with the skills I have harnessed on my own.”

“You’re doing quite well, my love,” Dodo reassures her. “Although, you may have missed some little details in your transformation spells, but we have the rest of our eternity to spend on magic. There would be no need to rush.”

She was rewarded with a press of lips against her, the taste of summer warm in her tongue as Dior kissed her, again and again and again, her palm against the skin of her wife’s cheek and her arm around her wife’s waist as they entangled themselves in their chaste passion.

Eternity had been long and dragging for Dodo who had once wished to be stripped away of her divinity, for she cannot bear any longer to watch as the mortals she had grown to love perish away from this earth and led towards the fields of the Underworld where their souls will roam endlessly.

Yet, Dior stood in front of her one day, with a determination as fierce as a lioness, asking if Dodo could concoct one of her transformation spells for her to consume.

“It may not work,” Dodo warns her, but Dior had never been one to back down. “I am aware, but still, I would like to try. If it ends well, I shall spend an eternity with you and if doesn’t, then we can try again.”

It is for her courage that Dodo had greatly admired her, and the light that replaced the darkness of her grief, surrounding her with an aura the color of molten gold. Dodo had paced the halls of Helios for decades, had been subjected to the blazing fire of his Father’s true form that could burn a mortal’s eyes with one look, yet nothing had shone as bright as Dior in that moment.

Now, her wife stands in front of her looking like she didn’t age a day, her skin glowing with eternal youthfulness and the golden aura of her witchcraft, churning lowly in the tips of her fingers but with a few years of practice, it could be wielded like a weapon in the same way Dodo does her own.

In the evening, after they had retired to their chambers, Dodo lays her wife down on the silky emerald sheets and with her lips, she makes flowers bloom on her skin like red roses and violet larkspurs. She feels her wet heat on her fingers and tastes the sweetness on her tongue, and Dodo feels like the goddess that she is, drunk on ambrosia and other earthly pleasures that the gods had subjected themselves with. Only she needs not to look further for Dior lies flushed beneath her, dark brown hair in disarray yet looking very much like the queen that she is, and on her knees, Dodo showers her with ardent reverence and adoration.

*****

_Dodo leans against the trunk of the tall, leafless tree in her garden, with Dior’s head pillowed on her lap. The mortal hums a tune under her breath, her eyes closed as Dodo busies herself with braiding flowers into her graying hair._

_It is nearing the end of winter, the branches will flower once again but the cold still lingers in the air. However, the sun peeks through the clouds to offer its warmth, so Dior pulls her outside of the house and into where they are right now, ignoring the protests of the witch as she tells her, “It is a wonderful day, Dodo!”_

_Despite her earlier displeasure at being dragged away from the hearth, where the fire blazes and the wolves lay on the carpeted floor with her as a reprieve from the winter frost, Dodo finds herself peaceful and calm as she sat with Dior, in an impenetrable silence that feels like it is only the two of them shielded away from the rest of the world._

_The silence, however, was disrupted when Dior sat up suddenly, the flowers braided in the strands of her hair falling at the abrupt movement. Before Dodo could voice out her concern, Dior turns to her, takes her hand and looks at her with steely determination, “Pharmaka.”_

_Dodo, who had been feeling hazy with sleep and cozy in their little bubble of warmth, had shown confusion at Dior’s sudden utterance of the powerful flower. But then, the haze clears and she understands what she is trying to convey. The answer was immediate on her tongue, “No.”_

_But Dodo knows Dior, and she is a stubborn woman, steady and sure with her choices and her decisions, like an anchor who is buried deep where it stands, never wavering at the burst of strong currents brought on by the unforgivable storms._

_“Please, Dodo,” she pleads earnestly. Dodo brings her walls down, tries to hear out her reasoning, “Why must I do that?”_

_“Should such questions still need to be asked?”_

_“An eternity in the island of Aiaia is not something to be wished upon, Lady Dior.”_

_“But your exile had been lifted! You’re not bound to Aiaia anymore, surely a trip or two in a year wouldn’t bring forth on you the wrath of your Father nor of Zeus.”_

_Dodo blinks, only then does she remember that her sentence exists no more. That she is as free as a bird to roam the skies and sail above the waters. Nothing is holding her back anymore, not the power of Zeus nor her Father’s wrath at her disobedience._

_Still._

_“It may not work,” Dodo warns her out of her own fear. It is in her hands after all, that the monster Scylla had been born. But Dior was not phased at the slightest, still brimming with determination and confidence that doesn’t falter, in her choices and in Dodo’s power._

_“I am aware, but still, I would like to try. If it ends well, I shall spend an eternity with you and if doesn’t, then we can try again.”_

_Dodo leads her then, towards the garden where the glittering azure blue flowers lay. She lets Dior lie on the grass, slides her eyes close with her palms. Then, Dodo plucks the flowers, one by one, feels the clear liquid essence drip down her skin._

_Her mind gifted her with a vision, vivid as if her soul left her body to traverse through the centuries in between the present and the future so she could watch Dior carry a child in her arms._

_Minghao, his name will be, and he is the gift bestowed upon them by the stars. He will be a brilliant boy, and shall one day lead an army with his calculative mind._

_Dodo sees herself and Dior, holding Minghao in between them as they walk along the shores of Aiaia, watching the stars twinkle above them, and their little one points at the brightest star on Orion’s constellation, tells his mothers, “I shall be like that star! Rigel, his name was as Changkyun had told me. I shall be the Rigel of an empire!”_

_Dior chuckles fondly, the sound dear as it reaches Dodo’s ears. Her wife then lifts their son up in her arms and whispers, “My darling child, out of all the stars, your light will shine the brightest.”_

_When he was old enough, he set sail for Sumeria, where Artemis and Apollo had both said his aid would be needed. Minghao, the bright star, who gained the favor and protection of the celestial twins of Olympus._

_Dior and Dodo stand by the cliff and watch as their son takes his place in the world, letting the waves take him to where the Fates had destined him to be. After all, their exile is non-existent and they could go visit him should they wish so._

_There is nothing more that bounds them in this world, but their unbridled love for one another, and in the centuries that Dodo had lived, she never once knew what it felt to be alive._

_Until Dior, the gentle flame who made Dodo realize that fire need not be hurt when it touches her skin, ignites heat in her body._

_She takes the wooden bowl beside her, fills it up with the flower’s liquid essence, and brings it over to Dior’s lips for her to drink._


End file.
